Yin Eyes
by PallasField
Summary: A short story written for my English class. The first chapter of the book 'The Hundred Secret Senses' by Amy Tan rewritten from the point of view of Kwan, a Chinese immigrant.


_Yin Eyes_

Stepping out into the Arrivals hall, I could sense the great expectations in the air. After the long, long flight I had had to endure, their intense feelings swept over me, infecting my yin eyes, affecting my rationality. Throwing myself upon my new family, I knew this was it. I hugged them, tried to show them "I will be good, I will love you!"

I had no expectations of _them_, as I have learned expectations lead to disappointments. My mother's eyes when she died giving birth to my already dead sibling showed me that. According to my Chinese Aunty, in her last breath Mama contaminated me with her feelings for Papa. That was what it felt like to me. The feelings were complicated.

I now see Mama too, along with Papa.

Mom – a name I was decreed to use – welcomed me into her arms. She was as glamorous as all the American women I had seen in magazines: blonde hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. So were my brothers, Kevin and Tommy, but I could see the Chinese men within them. Of course Bob did not look like much I'd even seen, but then again, he's Italian.

And then I crouched down to Libby and held up my arms; sure that this was an international gesture. Libby-ah's response was suitably international too, as she started crying and sucking her thumb. Hugging her anyway, I kissed her thin brown hair.

Together we all barely fit into Bob's station wagon: Mom, Bob, Kevin, Tommy, Libby-ah and I. Libby ended up on my lap, which kept her unhappy all the way home. I remember her trying to talk to Mom, who was jabbering away in English to me. All I wanted was for her to stop – she was hurting Libby. Hearing that we would be sharing a room from now on, I decided that I would talk to her all night long, like best friends, and make her feel loved. No such thing happened that night: Libby-ah fell asleep (or pretended to). Dejectedly I opened our window and looked at the new American moon.

The next morning Libby-ah and I were alone at the breakfast table – something I later found out to be a routine – with Kevin and Tommy sleeping in and Mom doing… well, it was always hard to know what Mom was doing. She could be helping out at the Salvation Army, or going out to the beauty salon. That was what Mom was like – despicable but saintly at the same time. I could see why Papa married her – they were one and the same. In those early years, our hatred and love of Mom was perhaps all that Libby-ah and I shared, though I liked to believe it was otherwise. Pushing myself unto her, I tried to reach her, communicate with her in some way.

I struggled to cope with the huge kitchen in my new home, at the same time attempting to chat with Libby-ah in my broken English. Some time later my brothers joined us and we breakfasted together. Tommy took a liking to me, being the gentle boy that he was. I escorted the three to school, waving to them as they went through the doors. Kevin and Tommy waved back abashedly, but tiny Libby simply hunched her shoulders and entered the school.

That day I sat all alone at home, cleaning the house, finding out things about my new family along the way. Leafing through photo albums, I saw the smiling Libby of a time that I wasn't part of. I wanted to love this Libby, bring her back from the past.

I think what she hated most about me at that time was my Chinese. It was what separated me from her father, other 'normal' Chinese Americans.

It was strange, suddenly feeling that whatever I said, nobody would understand. Before I moved to America, I was told often that I had a way with words – a certain eloquence. I used to have nightmares all the time shortly after I arrived in America, nightmares of a mysterious person on the plane from China to America cutting out my tongue and throwing it out of the plane.

But that all changed when Libby learned Chinese. I felt I had pulled my old self out of a deep, deep well. I could not hide my joy when, caught unawares, Libby-ah said good morning to me at the breakfast table – in Chinese an echo of my own. Libby-ah seemed unhappy, but happy at the same time. Perhaps it was her first taste of independence.

I think our relationship changed after that. I started taking care of her, talking to her after school. Sometimes she was suddenly nice to me, but quickly covered her mistake up by being sarcastic. But I knew of the kindness that was hidden below.

One night, I told her about Papa. About Mama. About trust, and heartsickness. She did not listen to me about these things though, and I knew it was too early for her to understand. Trying to appeal to her young, excitable nature, I told her about my yin eyes; made her promise not to tell.

That made her look up. But in the pale light of the American moon, I saw the fear reflected in her eyes. When she asked whether the dead were with us, I answered, wanting to please her: "Oh yes, many. Many, many good friends."

She was scared. The following day, she told Mom about my yin eyes.

Mom asked me to not tell Libby such things – that she aimed to keep superstition out of our home. I agreed with her, but the following day, Libby talked to me from her spot at the kitchen table: "Do you see my father?"

I told her yes; that I saw Mama too; that all the people she had ever known, would know, or never know were here with us.

It all became a 'game' after that. I would tell her in the morning: "Libby-ah, guess who I saw?" and she would reply "Marie Antoinette?" or "Ghandi?" or any such figure from history.

We would laugh, and I would be glad to have her as a sister.

END

A/N: This was a short story I had to write for my English class, based on an extract from the book _The Hundred Secret Senses_ by Amy Tan. The assignment was to rewrite the extract from the book from the point of view of Kwan, who, after the death of her father, moves to America to live with her half-sister Olivia (whom she calls Libby-ah) and her family. That's basically all I know of the story, so I don't really know whether this fic is anything like the rest of the book. Anyway, thanks for reading!


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